Who We Are
by Wolfsblood
Summary: A collection of short stories and drabbles surrounding the heroes we've grown to love. Ratings range from T-M depending on the chapter.
1. A Million Reasons - Amelie x Gerard

**A Million Reasons** **– Amélie - Widowmaker (** **Amélie** **/Gerard)**

"You're gorgeous."

Long, thin fingers tug at the porcelain handle of a teacup, adjusting it slowly until it rests at the desired angle. Amber eyes dart to the empty space beside it, noting something still amiss. Amélie's lips purse as she moves, rifling through drawers behind the counter. The pads of her fingers finally land on their intended target and she pulls a small name card from the drawer. "You're annoying," she finally replies, pulling out a pen and scrawling out the name of the morning's daily tea special at Café Mélange.

She can feel him looking at her, his eyes half lidded as he leans over the counter, a lazy smile on his face. He's doing his best to be charming, as always, and as obnoxious as it is, it works. He is charming, and she can't stand it. "Don't you have someone else to bother?"

He's full on grinning now and she's doing her best to glare, but there's no heat behind it and they both know it.

"My darling, there is no one for me but you," he says, finger dancing along the rim of the displayed cup. It drives her crazy, thin fingers swatting his away as she checks the angle again. It's unchanged, but she frowns nonetheless as he reaches for her hand. He's quick, but she's faster, her index finger jabbing him between the eyes and pushing him backward. The speed, precision, and strength are all startling, unexpected, but it makes him burn hotter for her.

Amélie moves to a different corner of the café, making the final adjustments to the displayed cakes on the top of the glass case. She should kick him out. She's tried before but he just comes back, buying up sweets and trying each unique tea blend she has in stock. It's no secret why he does it, and that alone should be enough to shoo him away, but he's a paying customer just the same and she can't bring herself to get rid of him. She supposes it could be worse….

A short puff of air ghosts between her lips as she cleans his fingerprint from the otherwise spotless dessert case. "If you insist on being a pest, Gerard, at least make yourself useful and turn the sign."

It's time for her to open, to let the early morning risers get a warm and relaxing start to their day. Gerard had been one of those customers, hand running through dark strands of hair as he yawned his way through sunrise. He had come in on a day when a young man stood at the counter, Amélie running late and calling in a favor. The tea was the perfect flavor and temperature, a blend of hibiscus and honey. His fruit tart was flaky and only mildly sweet, flawless, as if it had been created to suit his personal tastes. He gave his regards to the staff, but the other man refused to take credit away from the real artist, the owner of the café.

Gerard came back the next day in hopes he could meet this so-called artist, the perfectionist that had crafted such endearing sweets. He wasn't disappointed. Amélie stood at the counter, all legs and sharp angles. Her long black hair was swept up in a tight bun, a pastel feather clipped to its side. Her gaze was piercing, eyes glowing warm in the sunlight. Her lips were painted a light pink, rosier in the center, as if she'd kissed a raspberry. She was the picture of beauty, and he imagined her as sweet as her craft.

Amélie asked if she could help him and he took her hand and brought it to his lips. Her hand was soft in his, just as delicate as it looked. However, the exchange had ended with him flat on his back, blinking back stars from his eyes.

Two months later, having shown up every morning since, he's setting the sign of Café Mélange to 'open'.

He sits down at his usual table, a chocolate croissant already waiting for him. Amélie brings his tea next, the daily special, as always, today a crème brûlée blend. The smell of toasted sugar fills the space between them, and Gerard's eyes briefly close, a small hum of appreciation leaving his throat. An eye cracks open, catching the tall woman watching him with a bit more interest than annoyance. He smiles, "you always take such good care of me."

Her reply is as swift as her turning away from him. "You are my _customer_ , I care about the money you put in my pocket and that is all." They both know it's an inconsequential amount, and she hardly needs his patronage, but saying it aloud gives the first part some weight. That part is true; he is just a customer.

Her back is to him, but his hand still reaches for hers, large palm wrapping around lithe fingers. "It doesn't have to be," he says, his hand warm against hers.

Just this once, she listens. It sounds so unlike him, the soft and questioning tone. She's used to his confidence; the egregious use of compliments, too obnoxious to be flattering. It's familiar and this isn't, this is very different, very new. Amélie can't help but wonder what other sides of him she hasn't seen.

The bell rings as the front door opens and Amélie quickly retreats to the counter. It's safer here, a new customer between them to focus her attention on. She'll waste no more time on Gerard.

It's 4pm and Amélie is closing up the Café, the key sliding out of the door handle after a satisfying click of the lock. It's been a productive day, the mild chill of autumn helping to drive people toward warm atmosphere and warmer drinks. She pulls her knit scarf tighter around her neck; nose already blushed pink. She hears his footsteps and hesitates, she could get away if she wanted, but instead she checks her watch and attempts to look surprised to see him. "Really Gerard, flowers?" She asks plainly, not quite a greeting, but close enough.

He's carrying orchids, a vibrant violet against his tanned skin and dark mustache. "They aren't for you; just hold them for a moment."

Amélie flushes, taking the flowers and holding them carefully. She's curious who they're for and maybe even a bit jealous. He motions for her to walk with him and before she really thinks about it, her feet are moving, keeping pace with him. The more she looks at the orchids, the more she has to admit they're beautiful. "Who are they for?" she asks.

Gerard doesn't respond, not until they're in front of a restaurant and their noses are filled with the smell of fresh bread and cracked pepper. He inhales and sighs with a smile, turning to face his confused companion. His hand reaches behind her and pulls the pin from her bun. Her hair falls into a ponytail, wavy and inky black. It's a brazen move, but tonight is just that kind of night. "They're for the woman I'm taking to dinner tonight. I haven't really asked yet, not properly at least, but I think she'll say yes."

Amélie isn't sure if she's more irritated or impressed. It's ridiculous, and sweet, and so very Gerard. There are a million reasons to say no.

So she says yes.


	2. I've Got Your Back - Angela x Jack

**I've Got Your Back - Angela - Mercy**

He's cute when he's grumpy. Jack's brow furrows and he looks annoyed, but Angela knows he's just trying to redirect attention away from his flushed cheeks. She fixes his tie, dark navy to match his suit. He thinks it's ridiculous, but she assures him it's necessary. He represents them, represents Overwatch as a team, and he needs to look nice. Taking a couple steps back, she hums in thought as she looks over him. _Almost_ , but not quite. Her fingers connect with silver strands, rearranging and dragging through his hair lightly. She smiles finally, because the look is complete, and he looks _handsome_.

Angela thinks Jack is always handsome, but she knows it's been too long since he's felt it. She hopes he feels it now, as her hands move to his face and trace the scars he often hides; hopes he feels it when she presses her lips against the side of his mouth. His face turns a half an inch to meet her lips with his own, so he must.

There's knocking on the door and the moment is over too soon. Disappointment leaves her hesitating.

The stalling is worth it. Jack pulls her into him and she drowns again in warmth and the scent of his aftershave. He's been drinking; she can taste it on his tongue, but she knows that's not what's so intoxicating. It's Jack she's addicted to, his kisses that start out timid and gentle, but quickly turn desperate, they've got her head spinning. His hands trail down her back and she shivers against him. Her fingers ache to undo everything she just did, slip the tie from around his neck, unbutton his shirt, but her hands just curl around his neck and keep him close.

The knocking turns into pounding and can no longer be ignored, so they separate. Jack's clearing his throat, like he's going to say something, but he just lets her go.

Angela opens the door and nearly doesn't recognize the pink blur that rushes past her. "Hana, slow down!"

"Yeah, yeah. Dad, look at this!" Hana spins in front of Jack, the ruffles in her dress circling around her knees. It's flowing pink silk with white lilies stitched into it and she's more than a little excited, she's glowing.

Angela's waiting for the 'I'm not your father' line to slip past Jack's lips, but it surprisingly never comes.

Instead, Jack looks contemplative, thumb running across his chin as he narrows his eyes at the outfit. Finally, he nods, signaling his approval. "Not bad," he says.

The doctor covers a small laugh as Hana huffs and yells that her outfit deserves more praise than that. The girl turns to the only other female in the room, looking for support, and Angela is more than willing to oblige. "It's beautiful, Hana. You look lovely."

"Yeah," Jack chimes in, but doesn't look at her.

Hana blushes, but seems satisfied.

There's a rap of knuckles on the doorframe; it's Ana looking in, leaning against the archway. "It seems lilies were a good choice," she says, tipping her head toward Hana. Apparently, Hana isn't the only one who's come in seeking approval.

Angela knows Ana's been making several of Hana's outfits; it's become common knowledge that she enjoys using her hands to create things. What's not common knowledge is the arthritis that's been slowly crippling Ana's hands, making it painful to work. She's held a gun for almost as many years as she's been alive, squeezed the trigger too many times to count. She goes to Angela regularly for treatment, refusing to lose her hands to old age. It's as unfortunate as it is admirable.

This is how it always starts, how each of her relationships bloom: through healing, through Mercy.

It's a codename sure, but it's really the only thing she has to offer. It's what she gave Genji as she pieced him back together and cared for him, what she gave Jesse when what he needed most was a friend. It's what she gives Jack in the quiet moments of the night, when he drinks too much and forgets that it's not who he was that matters, it's who he _is_.

It's what keeps the rest of the team pushing forward, and keeps her heart full. She feels blessed knowing that she's a guardian angel to the ones she loves.

Her eyes crinkle as she offers a small smile to Ana. "You did a wonderful job, she'll be the best dressed at the event." She says, but doesn't miss the look the older woman sends Jack.

"Close to," Ana all but whispers. She waves a hand at Hana, "come, you'll get to pester him later."

It's then, when Ana leaves the doorway and Hana trails behind her, that Angela is reminded that she won't be there for later. Only a few members of the team are attending the event tonight, an award ceremony that she knows Jack wants no part of, but it's important that they be represented properly. Jack, Hana, Reinhardt, and Satya will attend, but Angela wishes she were going, if only to calm Jack's nerves.

She likes to think he needs her, even if his attitude says otherwise. If only he had asked her to come.

Jack mutters his thanks for helping him with the suit, and Angela supposes he feels awkward with nothing else left to put on. Breaking the tension with a smile, she wishes him good luck. He won't need it, she knows, but the line on his forehead eases a bit.

When the group leaves and the doctor is drowning in the minute details of her latest experiment, Genji's there to pull her back to the surface. He's brought her dinner, hot noodles and sweet bread with promises of an even sweeter dessert.

They're sitting on the front lawn of the lab, a blanket underneath them. Her daffodil yellow sun dress is hiked up over her knees in hopes a cool breeze might come. Genji's mask is off and his eyes are half-moon crescents as he laughs. It's genuine and she can't help but feel a little jealous. He's talking about Hanzo again, he always is, and Angela's reminded that love often means pain. She wonders how he does it, how he can still hold the man who nearly killed him in such high regard. She's asked Genji as much on more than a few separate occasions and it's always the same response. "He is my brother," he says, but Angela can interpret, can translate what's not being said.

 _He is my brother, my other half, my everything._

She wonders if she'll ever mean that much to someone. She hopes so.

It's close to midnight when she finds Jack outside, sitting beneath a blanket of twinkling stars. The bench is bare beside him, so she sits. He doesn't say anything, just clutches the bottle in his hand a little tighter, so she stays quiet. She can guess what he's thinking about, it's always the same, it's always the past. When she thinks about the past, she remembers summers running through flowers, daisies in her hair. She remembers when he used to call her beautiful. He was the Strike Captain, strong, commanding, and inspiring. She admired him even then, but he's not the same person now. There are glimmers in there, small flickers of the cocky commander she remembers so well, but they're gone in an instant. He's harder now, more reserved and abrasive, but it's only to protect his heart from softening further. Any more, and he might just break.

He drinks, then feels her weight as she leans against him. It's almost too warm out to be pressed together, but it's the comfort and not the heat they need.

Jack's not looking at her; his gaze is on the heavens. The stars reflect in his eyes and for a moment, Angela thinks she'll kiss him. Then he takes another swig and breathes out a familiar name that doesn't belong to her. It's not surprising, not the first time nor the last; she just wishes it didn't hurt so much.

It doesn't matter. He still needs to be cared for, needs to be touched, _loved_ , and she can give that to him.

Fingers tease at the soft hairs on the base of Jack's neck, coaxing him to relax and to look at her. She's here, right now, wanting nothing more than to be his support, to grant him mercy from the demons that chase him endlessly. Her lips press against his forehead first, then each cheek, and by the time she makes it near his lips he's chasing her. His kisses are too fast, too rough, and she has to slow him down. She doesn't mean to make him pause, but he does, pulling away and apologizing. Jack looks guilty, so she tells him not to stop, just to take his time. She kisses him softly, reassuring him that it's okay.

Angela's in his lap now, facing him and undoing his tie. The buttons on his shirt are next and it's just as satisfying as she thought it would be. His hands are running down her sides, gentle, until they slide under her dress and squeeze at her thighs. The noise that escapes her is soft and pleased; Jack's kissing her as if he's trying to taste it. They shouldn't do this here. Angela knows it's too open and exposed, but she won't give up the ethereal feel of being covered in nothing but stars, moonlight, and Jack.

Their next mission is a rough one. Angela, now operating as Mercy, resurrects the group more than once. They're fighting what feels like endless waves of machines with robust combat AI's, and it's exhausting. She sees Pharah over the buildings, hovering, and wounded. Gripping her staff tightly, Mercy positions herself to fly. She isn't paying attention to her left flank and bullets rip through the air, heading right for her. Her eyes widen as Genji appears, deflecting the oncoming fire. Her heart's beating a million miles a minute and she's never been so thankful for the silver clad ninja. The bullets ricochet and the machine explodes, but she was too close to death and she berates herself for it. Mercy breathlessly gives Genji her thanks. He nods, and then he's gone. She imagines he's probably grinning.

She tries to refocus, looking once again for Pharah. She's able to fly this time, healing her teammate with a concentrated stream of warm energy. Then she hears it, the shattering of her wing before she starts falling. There isn't time to react, and infinitely less time to discern where the shot came from. She's panicking, not sure what to do. Mercy braces for an impact that never comes.

She's in Pharah's arms now, the wind mussing her hair as they float down toward the ground. She's grateful, and opens her mouth to say as much, but then they're being shot at again and the words die in her throat. Pharah turns her back to the shots, and DVa boosts out in front of them. Another narrow escape, another grateful sigh of relief. There have been too many close calls for one fight.

Pharah sets her down, nodding to a building that Mercy can hide behind. She doesn't waste any time and starts running. She'll thank her best friend properly later. Her feet don't stop until she's about to pass Junkrat, faltering when she sees the state of his health. The doctor can't leave him like this, she won't. He's in front of her now, the recipient of her health, his bombs protecting her from enemy bullets. He salutes her and grins toothily before mine jumping high onto the roof of a building, leaving her alone again.

She starts running again, but gets tagged in the leg and now she's crumpled on the ground. It stings; she hates this part of battle. It's Jack, Soldier 76, this time that comes to her rescue. He drops a biotic field next to her and stands in front, shooting down machine after machine. The same warm energy she had given to the others now fills her own body, already making repairs. She hears him as if he's right beside her.

"I've got your back."

Jack has her back. Genji, Pharah, Junkrat, her team, has her back, and she's never felt so fortunate.

It's overwhelming.

They win, but it's a hard and long fight, one that none of them want to repeat any time soon. Angela works diligently to fix her wings, not knowing when the next battle might be. There's a single, solid knock on the door and it pulls her away from her work. She knows who it is.

The door opens and Jack's standing in front of her, looking nervous, and she can't help but wonder why. He asks if she's okay, which they both know is a silly question, but she answers that she's fine anyway. His nervousness is still apparent, so she takes his hand and squeezes it. Encouragement to say what's on his mind, sure, but it's also just an excuse to touch him. That part he doesn't know.

He's not looking at her now, one hand scratching at the back of his head and the other still in her grasp. "So Doc— er, Angela, there's this barbeque place that the kids were telling me about … and I was wondering…"

She wasn't expecting this, she couldn't have, and she wonders if it's a good idea. It's what she wants, what she's wanted for a long time, but Jack's a complicated man. It takes a moment for her to respond, but when she does, she's sure of her answer. It's the first time Jack doesn't just need her, he _wants_ her, and that means more than she can put in words.

She settles for a simple four, "yes, it's a date."


	3. Memories - Jack x Gabriel

**Memories- Jack Morrison, Soldier 76**

There's smoke in his lungs. It burns hot and chokes him, a coiling heat rolling through his body. He's used to it from the battlefield, likes the suffocating haze. It fills him, and he wonders if the smell of spent ammunition is real or not. It's good, regardless, and his breath escapes in a shudder. There's teeth biting at the base of his neck, thick fingers in his mouth, and nails dragging angry red lines into his lower back. It's all a bit too rough, too raw, and he can't imagine anything better. He could _never_ imagine anything better than Gabriel.

Jack's list of favorite things is a short one—pineapple on his pizza, overcast days, Hana's regular use of the word 'Dad' around him—he can probably count them on one hand. However, his list of favorite memories is long; most so vivid they're almost painful. It's a frequent reminder of what he fights for.

His first days as a new recruit to the military's Alpha unit, that's some of them. He was young, athletic, sharp, and eager to please. He thought it'd be easy to rise through the ranks, and it probably would've been if he hadn't met Gabriel. He was only a few years older, but outranked him, and easily bested Jack in almost everything. The Superior Officer wasn't kind about it, taunting and pushing him any chance he had. Jack had never hated anyone in his entire life, but he hated the way Gabriel wouldn't look _at_ him, he looked _through_ him.

Jack trained harder, became faster and stronger, working himself well past the point of exhaustion. Every day he improved, but it never seemed enough. He tested to get into the Special Enhancement Program, a natural course of action since he was top of his squad, but he was nervous nonetheless. He couldn't remember the test, really; it didn't matter. All that mattered was that for the first time Gabriel looked _at_ him.

That night Gabriel bought him a beer.

The days following are some Jack's favorites as well, these he keeps close to his chest. They're the days when Gabriel was no longer his superior, when they trained and fought alongside each other. It was undoubtedly a rough start, their roles having changed overnight, but they made a competent team. Until they didn't. It started as a game in passive aggression, seeing who could piss off the other the most. Then there was yelling, and eventually fists. They fumbled a mission, unable to coordinate and adjust their plans. It was frustrating at best and downright punishable at worst, their commander letting them off with a simple warning to get their shit together. Jack had taken it personally, and Gabriel naturally blamed Jack.

Their bodies still ached from combat, but their heads were too hot to think rationally. Two men punching and kicking wildly at each other, reopening the morning's wounds, beating fresh bruises into each other's skin. They grappled, pushing each other down in the alley between the training halls, gravel and dirt digging into their exposed skin. Hands, knees, and mouths pressed together in a flurry of pain and release. That night Gabriel's eyes never left Jack.

Jack used to be ashamed of that memory, but not now. Now he can't stop replaying it in his head.

Many memories on the list are from the days of stolen affection in empty training rooms and hallways, the days when Gabriel became "Gabe". The first time he caught the other man smiling at him, the feel of chapped lips pressed against his own, the first time he didn't wake up alone— these were shorter memories but each was just as special.

Then Jack had gone to Overwatch and Gabe to Blackwatch, and his list grew. As much as he'd enjoyed being teamed up with Gabe, the thrill that jolted through him when he watched the other saunter in after days spent away was on a different level. Cut, bruised, most of the time caked in someone else's blood, but never broken; Jack loved it. Either one of them could be out in the field, on the edge of death, but they'd always come back. One way or another, he'd get to touch Gabe again, taste his sweat soaked skin and remind him that he was alive.

There are more memories that didn't start out as his favorites but were late entries. The introduction of Jesse McCree to Blackwatch was one of them. Jack hated himself; he was jealous. The boy in an oversized cowboy hat was just that, a boy, one that Gabriel took under his wing almost immediately. They spent more and more time together, time away from Jack. He was jealous of a _child,_ and that stung most of all. Then one day Jesse sought him out alone, caught him on his way out of his office, and asked for his autograph. His goddamn autograph. He'd never felt so embarrassed and ashamed of himself. Gabriel found them on a bench outside, Jack regaling Jesse with (mildly) embellished tales from the battlefield.

That was the start of the end, Jack thinks. That's when things got too good, too perfect. Jesse would walk between them, holding on Jack's hand and reaching for Gabe's who would jerk it out of reach just to tease him. He'd climb on Gabe's back and look Jack in the eye, finger gun pointing at him. "Draw!" he'd shout, voice high and excited, but Jack would pretend to hold a rifle and squint an eye in response, "I've got you in my sights!" Gabe would laugh at them, loud and warm.

Jack wishes he'd kissed him. He should've kissed him.

Some memories are too intimate to recall anywhere but alone, often heating his skin and bringing him pleasure still. They're memories of passion and feeling. When he closes his eyes, he can smell them, taste them even, and it makes his throat dry. It makes him _emotional_.

Still, they're on the list, and they'll never leave it because he _loves_ them. He loves remembering the feeling of Gabe's fingers in his hair, their bodies pressed as close together as possible, the feeling of Gabe inside him. He feels full, needed, and absolutely complete.

He's addicted to these memories because these are the ones where he thinks Gabe might have loved him.

Then his list skips forward in time because Gabe dies and it still hurts. He hates that memory the most; it was his fault, and he'll never stop blaming himself. No one else does, but it doesn't matter because he has to live with the guilt, and without Gabe. He doesn't think he can. These kinds of things happen, Jack knows. People die in the line of duty, that's just the way it is, but it doesn't make it any less painful.

He leaves Overwatch behind. He has to, there's no other way to atone. The next several years are blank and meaningless and he hates them too. There are moments, he's sure, when he tried to forgive himself, but even those he can't fully remember. He's become someone else, no longer 'Strike Commander Morrison', now he's _Soldier 76_. He's a vigilante, a soldier in a mask trying to make up for what he's done, and he thinks maybe it's the only way he can bury Gabe.

When Winston made the call, begging him to reunite and rejoin the Overwatch team, Jack was reluctant to say the least. He hated the idea of it, but knew it was necessary, and deep down he missed having a purpose. It had been a long time, and he wondered if Gabe would have forgiven him enough to let him start over. When he returns to Overwatch his list of favorite memories starts up again.

He's a dad, not biologically, or legally, but if anyone asked if he had kids, he'd say yes. Hana always kept him the busiest, dragging him on shopping trips and forcing him to go to the arcade with her. It made him happy. He liked to watch her eyes light up when she was on the verge of winning, or the way she chewed her lip when she started to lose too many lives. She was cute, smart, and had too much energy for him. She still does, and it makes him feel young and old at the same time.

Angela had a similar effect on him, but in a different way. She was sweet and good to him, and he took advantage. He drank too much when he thought no one was awake to stop him. Got right on the edge of darkness, on the line between consciousness and where he thought he might see Gabriel again, and she pulled him back every time. It made him angry at first. He'd rather she let him suffer in his own self-pity and shame. Instead, she held him. She was warm, and quiet, and cared about him.

He cried the first time.

Jack was never sure if it was for Gabriel or for himself that he wept. He still can't remember, and doesn't think he ever will. He only remembers Angela's fingers swiping at his tears; how she smelled like honey, almonds, and antiseptic. That she tasted just as sweet.

He'd tried to be there for Jesse, he really had, but it was hard on them both. Jesse joined Overwatch so he could be further away from his memories of Blackwatch, of Gabriel. It didn't work. Every time he looked at Jack he remembered the family they had been to each other, the family they had lost. Then Jack left, and he was alone. Jack still thinks he blames him for some of it. Maybe not all of it, but enough to keep them from connecting like they used to. He understands.

The next memory on the list is a heavy one, life altering. A favorite of his heart and not his head.

Gabriel was alive. Well, as alive as one could be without a heart to pump blood through his veins.

They had been stalking this group for weeks— Talon, is what they called themselves— a group seemingly hell-bent on fucking up every one of Overwatch's missions. It was composed of at least three members: Widowmaker, Sombra, and Reaper. When Lucio came out of a mission with a broken arm and shattered will, Jack was quick to jump in and take his place. He'd be damned if he'd let some punks beat up his kids.

Sprinting through the alleys of Dorado, he stuck to the shadows, staying clear of potential sniper fire. His visor indicated when his destination was ahead, marking a back entrance to a large office complex. He was maybe 10 feet from the door when he rolled to the ground. Shotgun fire barely missed him, and he stayed in cover, listening for the reload. Instead, he heard the drop of heavy metal on the floor and a deep, raspy voice. _"You think you can hide from me?"_

 _Reaper_. Jack bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to come out gun blazing. He waited until he heard the reload, then shot around the corner. He could've sworn he had hit him, but the bullets seemed to go right through as if he was made of smoke. Jack charged in, knowing it was a poor decision, but he didn't give a shit. He'd stopped playing it safe a long time ago. He kept shooting, but the bullets were useless and went right through him. It would've been a total loss if Jack hadn't noticed the figure phasing back into a solid form and trying to retreat. Reaper's smoke skill was apparently timed. It gave him the perfect opportunity to shoot at him.

His gun jammed.

Cursing and throwing the useless firearm to the side, he dove after Reaper and tackled him to the ground. A flurry of punches followed, both fighting for dominance. It felt too familiar, too much like they had done this before. Images of Gabe flashed before his eyes. He froze, hesitating before his fist could connect with Reaper's mask. His voice was low and pained, but Gabriel's name escaped his lips and suddenly there was no one beneath him, just smoke.

Jack sat there, knowing Reaper was getting away, but he didn't chase him. He couldn't.

Gabriel was dead. It wasn't him. It couldn't be him.

It was Angela who found him, still sitting in the darkness of the alley, repeating one name over and over.

Gabriel.

It took time for Jack to get over that encounter, time spent visiting Gabe's grave and trying to convince himself he hadn't lost it. He wasn't really sure, but he hoped that wasn't the case. He had people who needed him again, people who mattered. Jesse was there with him, and that alone assured him that he hadn't lost everything.

His list of favorite memories ends there, the rest too hard to swallow.

The next time he shoots at Reaper, he convinces himself it's just some clown in a mask and he leaves the thoughts of Gabriel off the battlefield. They go through the motions a few more times before they're close enough to exchange words, choosing fists instead. It becomes a game, the third and fourth time are no different. The fifth time it happens he slips, letting Gabe's name roll off his tongue because he can't stop himself. It feels too real, like it's Gabriel underneath him. He feels fingers around his throat, pointed metal tips digging into the soft flesh.

The voice is deep and graveled and undeniably Reaper's but he can feel his chest tightening as the words hang between them, _"Gabriel is dead, Jack."_

It ends as it always does. With smoke. Only this time Jack can't recover, can't get past it because he _knows_ now that Reaper is Gabriel, _his_ Gabriel. Except that it's not. His Gabriel wouldn't do the things Reaper does.

No, his Gabriel is dead.

Jack still tells himself this, when the smoke burns through him, when it devours his body whole, that it's not his Gabriel, not really. But his heart is convinced otherwise, filled with nothing but the need to be complete again. When dark eyes are fixed on his own, when his body shakes with the feeling of familiar fingers marking his skin, he wants to believe the other half of his soul is buried there somewhere inside. They're not the same people they were when it all began, as much as he wishes they were. Too much has happened and it's far too late.

Jack died with Gabriel, and now there is only an old soldier and the reaper that's come to claim him.


	4. One More Time - Jack x Jesse x Gabriel

**Jack – One More Time**

"It ain't like you."

Jack's shoulders are drawn up, tight as he aims down the barrel of his rifle. His jacket's off, slung over the back of a bench a few feet away. A paper target is taped to a tree in front of him, riddled with holes. His finger relaxes off the trigger, eyes darting to the man beside him. "It's not like me to what?" he asks, knowing he won't like the answer.

Jesse takes a drag of his cigar. "To miss."

Jack's eyes narrow, pointedly ignoring the slow coil of smoke passing through the other man's lips. He rights himself, straightening up and letting his rifle rest at his side. "I never miss."

Jesse's brow arches, cigar bobbing between his lips as he moves next to the commander. He's too close for the other man to be comfortable, but he knows Jack won't back away. He's quick to pull out his gun; it's the cowboy in him, taking a single shot and ripping a new hole into the target. It's dead center, unsurprisingly, and he almost wants to smirk and be cocky about it, but they both know he's only proving a point. His body turns, hip cocking as he pulls the cigar away from his lips. "You ain't hiding nothing from me, Jack."

It's quiet for a few moments, neither one moving, only breathing. Jack's mouth thins, fist clenching before hesitantly going limp. His face sags and he runs a hand over it. He's not sure if he can say anything Jesse doesn't already know. He'd helped raise him after all.

Tanned fingers offer up the cigar and Jack almost wants to say he doesn't smoke.

Jesse knows better.

He takes the cigar, sucking in a mouthful of smoke and letting it warm him for a moment. Jack shudders, body clinging to the familiarity. It reminds him of Gabe, but tastes like Jesse. He has to exhale eventually, but hates to let it go.

The smoke leaves him in a rush, a tired and pitiful release. Blue eyes catch brown and its obvious Jesse's too smart for his own good. Jack can't help but look away. "It's not like it used to be," he says quietly, as if they aren't the only ones there. "He's different now."

Jesse takes his cigar back, shaking off the fresh layer of ash. His chest hurts, heart squeezed at the mention of the man who took him in all those years ago. The worst part is he knows Jack shares the same pain. "We all are."

The older man's face tightens. "He doesn't want you to see him," Jack spits out quickly. The lie tastes as poor as it sounds.

Jesse frowns. " _You_ don't want me to see him," he corrects, and the stalwart soldier in front of him looks suddenly broken. Jesse feels eight again, reminded of the first time he'd ruined Jack's life. Back then, Jesse was a nuisance; a hiccup in Jack's carefully laid out plan. He'd suddenly appeared and taken over Gabe's life, pulled him away unintentionally. It was never what Jesse wanted. Jack was _the_ Strike Commander Morrison, he was _famous_ , he was a _hero_. Back then, all Jesse wanted was to be like him.

He'd realize later that maybe that was his mistake.

It took Gabe to bring the two together, to help them start over. Jesse remembers the first time he asked to sleep between them, arms curled around himself, thunder cracking open the sky. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel Gabe's heavy palm on his back, the feel of soft cotton on his face as he pressed into Jack's side. He'd found his place, safe between the two people who cared about him the most.

He remembers the same broken look on Jack's face when he'd first kissed him.

Jack turns his back to him, setting his rifle down and wringing his hands. He's frustrated and it's his own damned fault. His eyes dart to the corners of the practice range; they're out in the open and he doesn't want to risk someone hearing them. He couldn't defend it even if he wanted to. Turning back around, Jack rests a hand on Jesse's shoulder. He wants to say he's doing it to protect him, that he doesn't want Jesse to suffer like he does, that all it'll end in is pain. The words are there, climbing the back of his throat when he feels calloused fingers slide along the angle of his jaw and pull him forward.

Jesse ruins Jack's life one more time.

Jack's outside, leaning against the wall of an apartment complex down one of Dorado's many back alleyways. He's been here too many times to count and yet tonight feels infinitely different. Jesse's upstairs with Gabe. Jack doesn't have the stomach to go up there; he hasn't worked up the courage just yet. Maybe he should've warned Gabe ahead of time, not that it would matter much. They both knew deep down it was only a matter of time. Jesse was just like Gabe, the worst kind of drug to get addicted to.

And _fuck_ was Jack addicted.

He checks his watch for the fifth time in fifteen minutes, his nerves on edge. He knew the outcome before the night even started, but it doesn't make him anticipate it any less. It's ten more minutes before Jesse ambles down the staircase and slips next to him, blinking back what Jack hopes is the residual sting of Gabe's vapor and not tears. He stays quiet until the other man is ready to talk.

Eventually Jesse clears his throat. "That…in there…that ain't him."

Jack thought he'd come to terms with it, accepted that the ghost of his past was just that, a ghost. But hearing Jesse say it was a new kind of pain. "No, it's not," he says anyway, as if the affirmation will make either one of them feel better. There's quiet for a few minutes longer, both of them fixated on the dark of the night surrounding them and the grey clouds rolling through.

Jesse wonders if it'll storm.

Blue eyes slide sideways, watching the other man sigh. Jack only has one more question. He doesn't know if he really wants to know the answer or not, but it's worth asking. "Did you leave, or he send you away?" He almost misses the way Jesse shivers, but the man's next words tell him all he needs to know.

"He told me to come get you; said we need to talk."

Jack's ruined Jesse's life one more time.


	5. The Sparrow - Hanzo x Genji

**The Sparrow - Hanzo**

It's annoying. Hanzo scowls, eyes narrowed at the man in front of him. It's annoying and he hates it because it's so familiar. Every time he sees it, regret soaks through his bones and poisons his bloodstream. The worst part is that even after everything he's done to get rid of it, it remains fixed, unyielding. He wishes it would stop doing this to him, stop squeezing the breath from his lungs. It's painful and breaks down his resolve every time.

Genji's smiling at him, and he hates it because it's still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Hanzo revisits moments long passed, far too often. The scent of cherry blossoms, the sound of old wood creaking beneath his feet, the feel of warm sunlight on his face as it filters through clusters of tree branches, he knows it all too well. These memories are loudest when he is quiet.

He's thirteen or fifteen years old, practicing with his longbow in the forest. Already, years have been spent between the bamboo and sprawling greenery, imperfections in the bark marking his trail. He's centered, his breathing paced and mind clear of distractions as he aims for a sparrow chirping on a tree branch ahead. His arm pulls back and stiffens, dark eyes narrowing at his prey. He's ready to release the taught string, send his arrow flying forth, but the blur that crosses his vision stops him.

The bird is gone.

He releases a breath and shifts his aim, shooting at the next tree over. The head of the arrow connects with the trunk; there's a gasp and shuffling of feet. Genji's sprawled out among the tree's roots, arms extended outward, the sparrow caged between his fingers protectively. He groans and opens his fingers, watching as it makes noise and takes to the sky.

Hanzo's hands are fists, the grip on his bow nearly splintering the wood. He's angry and frustrated. It was just like his brother to interfere, to ruin things for him. "I had the perfect shot!" he yells, disrupting the nearby wildlife. A few deer scramble away from the scene and it further fuels Hanzo's anger.

Genji's brushing himself off, standing and looking too smug for his own good. "You're too slow," he retorts, body leaning against the trunk of the now damaged tree, "and the bird didn't do anything to you, he didn't need to die."

Hanzo wants to punch him. "You're too soft. One day you'll learn what the world's really like and you'll wish you'd listened to me," he growls. He's right in front of his brother now, hand gripping the front of his shirt. He's irritated, but his stomach twists when Genji's face changes and he doesn't move to push Hanzo away.

The other boy's voice is low, the bow of his lips turned downward into a frown. "You sound like Father."

He wants to take it as a compliment, wants it to mean he's strong and powerful; that he commands respect, but he can't because he knows Genji isn't talking about those traits. He's talking about the rage, the lack of compassion and willingness to do whatever it takes to get the job done. "Maybe," he says just as low, fingers uncurling from his brother's shirt and resting at his side. Eyes wet and filled with hurt, he's suddenly tired and aches to go home.

Then he feels arms around him, the weight of Genji's body sagging into him as he's pulled close. He hears his name being whispered among promises that the other boy didn't mean it. Whether he meant it or not, it still scares him. He can feel Genji nuzzling his neck sweetly, overdoing his affections undoubtedly out of guilt.

His arm comes around the body pressed against him, squeezing reassuringly. He'll prove it to Genji, to himself, and everyone else that he isn't his father. Hanzo is more than just _that_ man's legacy, he needs to be.

Genji smiles up at him and it's different now than when he had stolen his older brother's mark. It's crooked, sweet, apologetic, and much too loving for Hanzo to stand. He's is still too soft, there's no question, but Hanzo supposes it's okay for the time being. He'll just have to be strong for the both of them.

Then he's twenty, sitting on the roof of the Hanamura temple with Genji at his side. Their mother is dead and he feels like the only good part of him is gone. She'd been ill since the year's first snow, health declining through the beginnings of spring. She died slowly, but left them all too quickly. It turns Hanzo's stomach and stabs at his heart. She was beautiful, kind, and he loved her. They both did.

He wants to yell at something or fight, exhaust himself and let the sorrow drain from his skin. Everything hurts and he doesn't know how to cope, he's never had to before. The first tears are silent and he tries to blink them away, but more come and soon he's shaking and can't stop. He thought Genji would be the one to break, not him.

There are hands on his face, fingers wiping the wetness from his cheeks, and he hears the words he thought he'd be the one to say. "It's alright, brother. I'm here, I'll never leave you."

A pained noise leaves him and he hates himself. He doesn't want to grieve, not like this, not in front of Genji, but he doesn't know how to stop it. He reaches for his brother, asking for help; he needs somewhere to channel all this pain. He can see now that Genji's eyes are red, and wet, and he's suffering just the same. It breaks his heart.

Fingers tangle in a tuft of bright green and he pulls his brother toward him, pressing their mouths together. It's nothing like the chaste kisses Genji gives him on birthdays, or as a thank you for picking up his favorite ramen. He's leading this time and it's infinitely different; open mouthed, hot, and needy. He wants Genji as close as possible. He needs to know that they'll never separate, never leave each other, because they're all each other has.

They're both reduced to nothing but moans and gasps, heads fuzzy and light. Hanzo is sure he should stop to breathe, reassess, and realize the danger of what's happening. He's sure of it, but it doesn't matter. He _knows_ it's his brother's throat he's biting, knows it's Genji's slim fingers slipping past the hem of his pants, and there's nothing he wants more.

This is how they grieve, through touch and whispered promises never to leave the other's side.

He's twenty-four, watching Genji flirt his way through the room. They're at some lounge; he can never remember the name, a meeting place for the annual gathering of future Clan leaders. Hanzo counts how many cups of sake he's held through the night and figures it's somewhere around five or six. Still, it doesn't feel like enough. His brother somehow manages to exude more charm the later the night gets. He's practically dancing between the groups of men and women, leaning into their casual touches and laughter. It's obnoxious and makes his blood boil. Hanzo will be in charge one day; people should be lining up to bow to him, not Genji. He knows it's the attention Genji craves and not the title. He could care less about the clan and their business, and to Hanzo, that is the highest offense.

His dark eyes follow Genji as the boy disengages himself from a woman's arms and heads toward the back entrance. He follows knowing no one will question him. He wonders briefly if anyone even realized he was there in the first place. He makes it out of the door just in time to feel hands gripping his arm and pulling him away from the entrance. It's Genji, sighing like he's exhausted and can't wait to get away from everything. Hanzo knows better, his eyes hardening when he sees the lipstick print below his brother's ear.

He wonders if Genji does it on purpose.

Hands fist in his brother's shirt, backing him into the wall and driving a knee between his legs. Part of him wishes to be found by the woman who had the audacity to mark what belongs to him. He wants her to hear how Genji mewls and begs, see the bruises Hanzo gives him. He wants her to witness Genji fall apart and to listen closely when Hanzo tells his brother how he's going to fuck him.

It's all a fantasy; no one can ever know. It's too dangerous and wrong. Still, when they're drunk and not careful, there's a chance. Soon he's imagining what will happen if someone finds them. Anyone can walk through the door and see them tangled together, a mess of limbs, moans, and sweat. As terrifying of a reality it might be, the thought keeps Hanzo hard.

He's thirty when his world shatters. His father is dead and he needs his brother by his side. Everything rests on his shoulders; it's what he's trained his whole life for. He cannot do it alone; no longer will he let Genji idly sit by. His brother's support is imperative for their clan and their business.

When Genji refuses to aid him, he's never felt so betrayed.

He has to kill him. Hanzo convinces himself it has to be this way, that there is no other option. Their ideals are too different and his brother is forcing his hand, it has to be done. If he has to kill the last person in this world that loves him, at the very least he'll make it quick.

When his sword slashes across Genji's skin, blood spraying from the wound, he can't stop the tremors in his hands. He doesn't want this, doesn't want to watch his brother suffer because of him. He doesn't want him to die, but he _is_ dying, and he can't take it back. He's on his knees, arms wrapped around Genji's limp body and he can't stand looking at him because even now Genji's smiling. Hanzo's voice is hoarse and rough, the words sounding far away and muted in his head. "Don't. Don't, brother, _please_."

 _Please don't smile for me, not now, not after what I've done._

His begging goes unacknowledged and Genji presses blood soaked fingers to his lips. His brother smiles at him until there is no strength left in his body, until he's limp and gone somewhere Hanzo can't chase him.

That was then, and this is now. Hanzo is thirty-eight, sitting on the roof of the Hanamura temple, and Genji is in front of him, smiling. Thin scars mar his skin, a synthetic green eye sitting in his left socket, the feather from a sparrow held between metal fingers. He's perched on the edge of the roof, some foreign haiku rolling off his tongue.

It's all so very strange. Different, but familiar.

Genji should be dead. Hanzo had thought he killed him long ago, but enough of his body remained to piece him back together. It was Angela, Overwatch, and then Blackwatch who healed him. It was everyone but the one person who mattered most.

When Hanzo found out Genji was alive, his whole body was sick with confusion and regret. He knew his brother would come after him, certain the only thing that kept the other going was revenge. He was wrong. Despite how different Genji came back, now more than half of his body composed of cybernetics, he was still the same soft boy who saved the bird in the woods. He was still Hanzo's brother, still his blood, and he still loved him.

He'd rather Genji hate him, because he'll never apologize for what he's done. He regrets it, the heavens know he does, but he can't admit to it without losing the respect of his clan. Hanzo has worked too hard, given up too much, to throw it all away. Dismantling the Shimada Clan is Genji's new purpose in life, and although highly annoying, it comes as no surprise. The world is a different place now and they both have roles to play.

Hanzo waits, seated on cool tile, a bottle of sake at his side. He looks past Genji at the night that surrounds them. He waits patiently and is rewarded as his brother finally moves to kneel in front of him. Hanzo reaches out to touch an old scar on Genji's lip, and he wonders how many of these are his doing. Not all of them, he knows, but too many.

Genji kisses him, lips warm and pliant against his own. It's not the same as it was when they were young. _They're_ not the same. Hanzo's beard scrapes against Genji's scarred chin, his worn hands pressing fingerprints into the metal plates that make up his brother's new body. It's all very new and different for the both of them, but it doesn't mean any less.

Hanzo wakes up on the roof under the cover of night. He's not sure what time it is or how long he's been asleep. It's the fifth night in a row he's dreamt of Genji. His mouth, his hands, his smile, it always feels so real.

He rolls onto his side, hoping a change of position will help him fall back asleep. He stops breathing when he sees it, Adam's apple bobbing as his chest tightens. A long feather rests beside him, note tied to its quill.

 _It's alright, brother. I'm here, I'll never leave you._


	6. Safe - Mako x Jamie

**Safe - Mako - Roadhog**

He wakes up to high-pitched laughing. It's alarming, unsettling, and just the beginning. Then the choking starts and sobbing follows. Then there's high-pitched screaming and the sound of erratic gulps of air signal Mako to get up, to put an end to it before things get worse. He's rolling out of bed and kneeling in front of the only other man in the room in a matter of seconds. It's too dark to see, but his large hand on the man's head is enough to make his presence known. It's Jamie; laughing, sobbing, screaming, it's always Jamie.

Mako runs the flat part of his palm over wiry strands of hair and it seems to help. His friend is breathing closer to normal again, which is rushed and anxious at the best of times. These nightmares don't happen all the time, but they're a familiar scenario that they both could do without.

Jamie's fully awake now, digging his fingers into his companion's stomach and muttering the word 'safe' over and over. Then Mako joins in, still petting him, "Safe. Safe. Safe." It's what Jamison needs to calm down, to come back to Mako's world.

Then they're both quiet and Mako waits for him to lie back on his own mattress. It's a bare thing, no sheets or blankets and he wonders if his friend gets cold. He's tried before to cover him up, to tuck him in and make him warm, but the other just kicked him away. He wonders if it has something to do with the nightmares, if Jamie tries not to sleep very long or comfortably on purpose.

He lies down in his bed again, pulling the blankets up to his chin and goes back to sleep.

In the morning, he wakes up to a sharp pain in his shoulder and feels the sting of a hand slapping his face.

Jamie's in his bed, half kneeling, half laying on top of him. "Come on, get up!" the goblin growls out, biting at his skin. Then he's leaving wet kisses on the red indents and his fingers are grabbing at Mako's face. "I didn't mean it!"

He meant it, he always does. The heavier man's hand easily engulfs the scrawny one pulling at his eyes and cheeks. He can feel the burn of fresh scratches, but he does nothing to reprimand his counterpart. Instead, he wraps an arm around him and just holds the other for a few minutes. It does the job, calming Jamie down until he's no longer trying to burrow his way under Mako's skin.

They have things to do today, maybe steal a car or rob a bank, but when he shifts to let Jamie go, the other holds fast. He needs more time and Mako gives it to him.

He wants to ask about the nightmares, about what he can do to help, but it's not something they've ever talked about and he doesn't want to overstep. Things have been getting worse lately. Jamie has more episodes, more nightmares, more breakdowns, and he doesn't know how to fix it. Most of it he can't, he's known the other man for too long to think he can cure the madness that eats away at his mind.

Sometimes Mako can't stand it. Sometimes it's too much for even him and no amount of reassurance can put a halt to the mania. It's overwhelming and doesn't take long before he thinks he might just go crazy too. Then Jamie reaches for him and he's reminded why he stays.

He clears his throat, trying to formulate the best way to ask his question when he's interrupted by small hands tugging at his larger one. They bring his fingers up to Jamie's neck, wrapping them carefully around the soft, fleshy column. It's strange, but Mako's done stranger to keep his friend grounded. It might be a security thing; maybe it helps him feel safe. He's not sure, but it doesn't quite feel right to ask. Those thoughts abandon the larger man instantly when he hears Jamie's voice.

"Choke me."

Jamie's tone is hard and stilted until he repeats the request much softer. Soon he's begging and Mako's hands tighten out of instinct because he can't stand to hear the other's pleas. His brows furrow as the man in his lap rasps out "more" and harder". He doesn't want to hurt him, doesn't want to feel the shallow breaths ghost over his knuckles, but Jamie wants it and it shakes him at his core.

He has to stop, has to let go.

His grip slackens and he pulls away like he's been burnt, Jamie's neck an angry red column of heat. Mako's dark eyes are wide and he's breathing just as heavily as Jamie is, but it's out fear. The request, his compliance, all of it is terrifying, but Jamie's perpetually grime smeared face is buried in his chest and he's _laughing_.

It makes him angry. Thick hands yank bony shoulders away from him, snapping the other man's head upward to look at him. "Never again," he growls, his heart beating in his ears. He would do anything the other asked of him, but he would _never_ hurt him. The fact that Jamie would test him like this makes his stomach knot. He wants to know why, and the question is at the tip of his tongue, but he swallows down the syllables when Jamie presses their lips together.

It doesn't last long, but it's sobering and drains the rage from him all the same. He knocks their foreheads together then Jamie scrambles off him, stretching like a cat just disturbed from a long nap. It doesn't take long for the mood to shift back into normalcy and Mako's grateful. He mentions that he's hungry and he'll make breakfast if Jamie goes over their agenda, but his friend beats him to the kitchen and tells him to sit tight. His stomach growls because it takes too long, but regardless he waits patiently. He reviews the day's agenda instead, noting they're already past schedule, and scratches a black line through the first item. He'll move it to another day, maybe move everything, he's not sure what Jamie can handle today.

A plate of toast and eggs are thrust in front of him, silver fork neatly placed on the right side of the plate. It looks a bit sloppy, toast with a touch of singe around its edges, but he takes a bite of the eggs and they're surprisingly edible, tasty even. He looks up from his plate, watching Jamie rock back and forth on his heels awaiting the verdict. He has to clear his throat, take a second to scratch at the warmth in his chest before he nods his approval. The food is a lot like Jamie, somewhat messy and charred, but _good_ where it matters.

It's late into the night when they finally decide to rest, Mako peeling the mask from his sweat-laden face. They'd spent the day 'borrowing' things from Winston's lab in Gibraltar, swiping whatever they could get their hands on. Jamie had said it was for _science_. He supposed seeing how many ways a person could be blown up counted as science; he wasn't really sure to be honest.

Exhausted, Mako collapses onto his bed, but makes a noise of protest when Jamie saunters toward the other mattress. He has something else in mind and beckons his friend closer. Jamie's face is twisted up in confusion, but he moves anyway, almost jumping out of his skin when he feels hands on his waist, pulling him downward. Mako watches him fall awkwardly, tangling their limbs together. It takes a moment to adjust but they do so quietly, the smaller man curling against his side. Fingers run up and down Jamie's knobby spine and he's gifted with a small sigh. His voice is a low and soft hum, vibrating through the body next to him, sinking into his bones.

"Stay, I'll keep you safe."


	7. Some Nights - Jesse x Hanzo

**Some Nights- Jesse McCree**

He's too old for this, Jesse thinks as he's backed into the corner of an alleyway in Kings Row. Too old to be dodging bullets and arrows, not knowing if it's the enemy's projectiles or his own team's. Too old to be throwing flash grenades and dodging into cover at the last possible second, narrowly missing losing his head, or at least part of it. He's too old and not very old at all and he wonders if that's how Jack feels. The war is aging his body and his mind, but he knows he won't stop until he's dead.

Some nights, as the sun sits close to the ground and he's perched somewhere comfortable, lit cigar rolling loose between his lips, he thinks about what the war has already cost him. It doesn't take much to remember everything he wants to forget. The autumn sunset glints off his metallic arm and reminds him he doesn't need to reach back very far. It's all in front of him, all around him; the empty space of land where he'd wanted to have a fence, build a barn, and raise some horses, maybe a family. Whether that meant ponies or children, he's not sure. It could've been both, he thinks, but he says it quietly to himself so no one will hear the way even as a whisper his voice cracks. He's reminded he's alone.

When he thinks about family, he thinks about Blackwatch first. Overwatch came later; his family now, but not the one he feels deepest about, not if he's honest with himself. He's only ever honest with himself. Blackwatch was Reyes, and Reyes was family. He was the closest thing to a father he'd had and it had been troubled but _good_. It was those little moments of _good_ that he clung to, sometimes playing the scenes over and over until he forgot the bad. But the bad was always there, always tucked away for sunsets and cigars, for moments alone when he could afford to give it a little time in the light.

Jesse thinks about family a lot lately, maybe too much. He takes some extra time shopping for presents just before Hana's birthday, and buys her something probably too expensive. He tries to look like it was nothing, like he didn't know what to get her and he just picked some small thing up, but he's asked Lucio at least twenty times when the date was so he doesn't forget. She's probably too old to be his daughter, but her eyes sparkle when she looks at him and her hug lingers, and he thinks this is the closest he'll ever get.

The adults go out for drinks afterwards and the kids have a sleepover. Jesse likes that Jack calls them "the kids", like they're really all just one big dysfunctional family from a TV show, and maybe they are. The thought gives him warmth, but the man sitting next to him at the bar is all _heat_.

His arms are crossed over his chest and he's glaring straight ahead, but Jesse's leg nudges his under the lip of the bar and his hardened features soften. He's still not looking at him, even when Jesse smiles openly, but that's just him, that's just Hanzo.

Jesse has to remind himself sometimes that even though Overwatch feels like family, it's first and foremost his job. Even sitting at the bar pretending to be more inebriated than necessary, it's still work and these are still his coworkers. He loves work, but the moments after he says goodnight is what he lives for; when his hand is tangled in long hair and his body is pressed against the hard angle of Hanzo's hips. When he burns kisses into every inch of his flesh and he's swollen for it, when he can feel the other tighten around him and choke out his name in ways no one else can.

Jess thinks that's the meaning of life.

Even when it's over and they're limp, cooling down but still sharing heat, he thinks if he didn't have _this,_ there'd be no point to anything. If he didn't have someone he cared about so deeply in his arms at that very moment, he might die. What gets him the most is that who he holds _matters_. It matters more than he thinks it should and more than he'll ever say. It matters that it's Hanzo; it can't be anyone but Hanzo.

They're both battle worn, too seasoned for it to be a crush; that was for preteens and mid-life crises. No, they know what this is, what it means. Jesse won't let them say it, and he figures Hanzo won't anyway. He's more disciplined, more controlled, but also more loyal in his affection. Betrayal is a sore subject for the both of them, so they never put a name to what they feel. They'll leave it for after the sun sets, unspoken, and Jesse is fine with that.

He's too old for this, Jesse thinks as he runs calloused fingers down Hanzo's gently curved spine. It's the first time the archer has chosen to stay, to fall asleep next to a broken cowboy. He's too old to be so ridiculously infatuated and afraid at the same time.

He's too old to be in love, but he knows he won't stop until he's dead.


	8. Perfect - Angela x Jesse

**Perfect – Angela – Mercy**

It's cold outside. Glittering white blankets the earth, snowflakes falling gently until they join their predecessors in heaps on the ground. The trees are frosted and sagging, heavy with the sky's burden. It's cold, but Angela is warm. She's wrapped in a knitted sweater and thick scarf, hands cradling a hot cup of cocoa as she sits by the window. Her lips form a circle, blowing out cool air over the surface of her drink. Judging by the decrease in steam, it might soon be ready, cooled down enough to enjoy. It's a perfect moment in time, and perhaps that's why it can't stay.

There's shouting as her door is forced open and she's startled. The liquid jumps as her body turns, eyes seeking out the disturbance. Jesse McCree leans hard against the doorframe. He's smearing blood across the wood and the mug leaves her hands. The noise is loud. The cocoa pools on the floor, and the cup is chipped, but she can't hear or see any of it. Her senses are filled with Jesse.

She's gathering him up in her arms, blood soaking the wool of the sweater and painting splotches into her scarf. He's delirious, rambling, and her heart is breaking.

It takes some time to get him to the lab and sedate him, even more time to figure out what happened. What doesn't take time is the diagnosis and she hates herself for a moment. Jesse's arm is riddled with bullets, a mangled, bloody mess, and she knows what's going to happen next. Her stomach is tied in knots, leaden and tight.

Angela removes his arm. The procedure is routine and uninterrupted, but she's shaking when it's done. It all happened so fast and she wonders if he'll be able to cope when he wakes up. She wonders if he'll hate her.

Her fingers seek out his, the only ones he has left. She holds his hand until he wakes up, and even then is reluctant to let go. She hates this part the most. More than the painful cries, more than surgery, it's the moment someone wakes up and realize a part of them is missing.

He awakens and needs time, needs space. It's understandable, and she gives it to him. The prosthetic takes time to create; he'll have one that fits him perfectly, she assures him, but this is the time in-between.

These days are the hardest and test him the most.

Angela is both doctor and therapist, working with him daily as he gets used to using only his other hand. She lights his cigar for him, making sure to mention how bad it is for his health before she slips it between his lips. He hums in response, taking an extra-long drag. The smoke is released in rings and she can't help but roll her eyes. It's silly and terrible for him, but he's smiling and right now that's all that matters.

As much as their time together is for physical rehab, they both know the bulk of it is emotional. He tells her that he can't sleep; that when he does, he dreams of being _whole_. Her throat is dry, eyes wet, as she listens. It's not good for a doctor to get emotional, she knows, but this is someone she cares deeply for and it all feels horribly unfair.

A tentative hand finds his chest, palm pressed against his heartbeat. Her voice is barely above a whisper, but she assures him that he _is_ whole, that all of him is right there under her fingers.

Angela's trying to smile, to look up at him with encouragement, but her vision is swimming and soon she's crying because she's sorry. She should've saved his arm; somehow, she should've fixed him. It's the opposite of what the moment is supposed to be, but she can't stop apologizing for it, for everything.

His arm is around her, pulling her close and holding her against his chest. He rocks them back and forth slowly, telling her it's okay, that it's his fault for picking fights he has no business being in.

He's probably right, but she can't help but be sorry. She loves him too much not to be.

The next morning, Jesse shows up in front of her room with flowers. They're white peonies with blush pink centers, beautiful and full. Bright blue eyes fill with confusion as she looks at him, unsure.

"I never did say thanks," he says, motioning to his other side of his body where his arm used to be. "So … thanks, Darlin'." It's unnecessary, but makes them both smile.

Angela invites him in for a cup of coffee, hoping he'll stay for two. They sit on the couch with their knees touching, exchanging stories and bad jokes. It all feels so incredibly normal, and yet, it's the happiest she's been in weeks because _he_ looks happy. His grin is wolfish, dark eyes glinting with mirth as he regales her with 'lessons learned' and cautionary tales on 'life as a cowboy'. It's all so ridiculous, like his hat, cigar, and thick gold belt buckle, but it's all who he is and it's perfect.

He's perfect.

It's barely a week later when Winston comes into Angela's lab bearing gifts, a cup of coffee in one hand and the real present in the other. It's done; Jesse's prosthetic arm is finally ready. It's a work of art really, smooth, shining silver. It matches the metal she's already inserted in his shoulder socket, and she's impressed with Winston's handiwork as usual. She knows it'll never feel like Jesse's real arm, but hopes he'll learn to love it.

She almost trips on her way to see him, pulling Jesse from the shooting range in promises of a surprise. He seems mildly annoyed at being interrupted, but curious enough to follow and that's good enough.

She makes him close his eyes. It's childish, but she wants the moment to be memorable, wants to watch his expression change when he feels the new arm connect to his body. The sound of locking metal fills the room as the rods connect and the piece secures itself to the socket. She's pleased when his face shifts and he opens his eyes to look down at his new appendage. His face is difficult to read first, but as he wiggles his fingers, a slow smile spreads.

Satisfied, she turns to leave and give him some time alone. It's an overwhelming experience and he should get some privacy, but he reaches for her and she can't help but hesitate. The metal of his palm is cool against her skin, goosebumps prickling at her arms as she turns around. His other hand cups her cheek, warm and calloused, and the contrast sends a shiver down her spine. She's never seen his smile so soft, so sweet, and it makes her chest swell. Blue eyes flutter closed as his thumb strokes the angle of her jaw. She leans into his touch, head sinking in a miasma of warmth as he pulls her into a kiss just as sweet.

He's careful with her, opening her mouth to his slowly with soft, languid kisses that leave her breathless. Angela had always imagined his kiss would be rough and scalding, addicting just like the rest of him. It's endearing, but feels like he's testing the waters still. She realizes almost too late that it _is_ a test, that he's unsure and doesn't recognize how deep she's already fallen for him.

She pulls away just long enough to whisper against his lips, eyes hooded as fingers dance across his chest. The flush that runs through him makes it worth it- dark pink splotching his skin. His grin is back, full, toothy, and dangerous. She loves it, and tells him as much when he takes her back to his room, and again when she's in his bed clothed in nothing but ruffled sheets. He runs one hand along the smooth expanse of her skin, but leaves the other at his side. He won't touch her with his new hand and she notices. Soft fingers seek out stiff metal and bring them to Angela's lips. She watches Jesse flinch before she kisses each digit, running her lips along his palm. She knows he can't feel it, not really, but that's not what matters. The mechanical appendage is new and foreign, but it's part of him now and so she loves it all the same.

She loves _him_ , and he can feel it now. The way his eyes change, flicker and grow dark as he watches her, gives it away. Then he's on her, in her, all around her, and it's almost more than she can take.

Angela wakes up warm and boneless, eyes bleary with sleep. She shifts, reaching a hand out beside her and missing the body she'd hope would be there. The scent of cocoa and cinnamon pervades her senses and she hears Jesse's familiar drawl. "Good mornin', Darlin'."

He kisses her awake, metal hand cradling a hot cup of cocoa almost cooled off enough to enjoy. Her whole body is alive with love and she doesn't think he's ever looked so content.

It's a perfect moment in time, and perhaps that's why it can't stay.


	9. Growing Pains - Jesse x Gabriel x Jack

**Growing Pains — Jesse McCree**

He's running through the hallways, grinning widely as he ducks behind the largest body in the room. Bright brown eyes look up and a finger presses to his lips, urging the shield in front of him to be quiet. He tries not to fidget, to shake from anticipation. Luckily, he doesn't have to wait long.

"Now where could my little cowboy have gone?" Ana voices, doing her best to sound genuinely stumped. She can see the side of the eight year old's arm, tan skin peeking out from behind the giant man's thick legs.

Reinhardt's facing her, shoulders shrugging as he tries not to laugh. "I haven't the slightest clue, my dear. Have you checked the kitchen; he's a growing boy after all." He can feel small hands clutch at the back of his pant legs, approving of his attempt at misdirection.

Ana has other ideas. "Well then, we might as well take advantage of the time alone." It's in moments like these that Ana wishes she could wink. She moves closer to him and raises up on her toes, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Gross!" Jesse yells, coming out of hiding with his face scrunched in disgust. He looks away from them, arms crossed and cheeks pink.

Reinhardt laughs loudly, shoulders shaking as he turns his head toward the boy. "Some day you'll wish you were so lucky."

Ana's hands are on her hips as she bends down to Jesse's level. "That'll teach you to hide from me. Come now, back to your lesson."

Jesse's face heats up as he huffs in a final display of defiance. "Can't I just watch Jack on his mission? Just once?"

Reinhardt and Ana exchange looks; Ana speaks first, "In time, habibti."

"When you grow as big as me." Reinhardt chimes in, earning another huff.

Ana's fingers find Jesse's cheek. She doesn't have the heart to tell him what she knows. It's been only twenty minutes or so since Jack was pulled from the field, body riddled with fresh bullet wounds. Gabe's taken his place as commander of the mission, filling in where Jack left off. She knows Jesse's too young for it, too new to their family to see how quickly they can be torn apart.

"Let's try a different lesson then," she offers, "let's bake some fresh chocolate chip cookies for the team. Then they'll have something warm and tasty to celebrate their victory with."

Jesse knows it's a diversionary tactic, appeasement at best, but if it gets him out of reading he'll take it. He finds himself smiling despite himself as Reinhardt ruffles his tuft of tawny hair.

He hopes Jack comes back hungry.

The team returns and Jesse vibrates with excitement. He's surprised to see Gabe at the helm, stepping onto the jet way first. As the aircraft empties, Jesse's left confused and afraid. Jack wasn't with them and it twists Jesse's gut in ways he doesn't like.

He hates that the team has to go through the medical wing first, that he can't just run out there and see Gabe. Nervous energy has him bouncing from one foot to the other, waiting impatiently for Gabe to come around the corner. He looks down at the napkin full of cookies in his hand and frowns. He doesn't realize how long he's been staring at them until a sudden hand on his shoulder startles him.

"Hey, kid," Gabe says, now kneeling in front of him. He eyes the bundle in Jesse's palms. "What are those?"

Jesse's almost too startled to respond. "Um, cookies. They were for Jack…but I mean I made you some too, so you can eat these if you want." He pauses as Gabe takes one of the homemade treats and bites into it. "Where's Jack?" Jesse askes, confusion and worry evident in his voice. He doesn't give the man the opportunity to respond, pinning him with more questions. "I thought you were just watching the mission, you weren't supposed to leave too. Why did you leave?" He knows how these missions can go, how there's a possibility that someone could _disappear,_ as Ana puts it. It's happened before, but not to Jack, never Jack. He knows Gabe wouldn't let that happen…he knows it…so why…?

The other two cookies drop to the floor and Gabe is quick to put both hands on Jesse's shoulders before he has a panic attack. The kid's shaking, but Gabe's grip is solid as he shushes him. "Jack is fine, Jesse, he's fine. He hit some trouble on the field and I stepped in for him, that's all." This is the part where Jack usually is soft on him, and Gabe admittedly feels a bit lost. "He's in medical with the doc; we'll go see him as soon as she gives us the okay. Just..." He's not good at this; he hates it, "you and I have to be tough so we can take care of him, okay? Sometimes even he needs help, so we have to strong so he can lean on us. Understand?"

"Okay…." He's not fond of the answer, it's not what he wants to hear, but it's something. The pounding in his chest eases a bit as he takes deep breaths like Jack and Gabe taught him so many months ago. Small hands find Gabe's larger one, rough with wear and age. Jesse wants nothing more than to wrap himself in Gabriel's warmth, but his forgotten cookies are in the way.

Gabe leads him away from the med bay, the hesitance in Jesse's steps making their trek more difficult. The boy's head is still turned toward its door, eyes fixed on the metal frame. He wants to let Jesse stay, wants to think it'll be only a few more minutes before Jack comes limping out, but he knows better. He tugs a little harder, forcing the boy to finally face forward as they walk. This isn't what he'd expected when he took Jesse in. Pep talks, some discipline, a little spoiling maybe, not the nightmares, the anxiety and worry when they went out to battle, the fierce attachment. He'd planned to raise a soldier, but it was apparent from the first day Jesse grasped his hand that he was just a child.

Gabe sits him down in the break room with a pint of strawberry ice cream in front of him. The spoon feels too big in Jesse's hand and he can't get himself to eat any of it. He's too worried about Jack, stomach too tight and hands too clammy.

Jesse doesn't like strawberry anyway.

Eight hours is a long time to feel sick. Jesse's exhausted, eyes red and head heavy, finally granted admittance to the med lab to see Jack. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping him awake; Gabe keeping a careful eye out as he nearly knocks over Dr. Zeigler. He comes to a hard stop as a strong grip on the back of his shirt prevents him from going any further. Brown eyes meet blue and he can't even bring himself to feel guilty.

"No running in my lab, you know the rules." Angela Zeigler squats down, letting go of his shirt and smoothing it out. There's a small smile on her face, but the knitting of her brow tells a different story. "Jack's had a hard day, sweetie, so he's resting. You can go see him, but try to be quiet, alright?"

There's a quick nod and then he's back on target, padding his way (a bit slower this time) over to Jack's bedside. He doesn't notice the fact that Gabe doesn't follow, Jesse's pace slowing as his brain registers that the bandaged and wired figure in front of him is jack.

Angela frowns, her voice quiet as she addresses Gabriel. "He shouldn't be here for this, not yet."

"He has to see this side of things too, there's no point babying him. He needs to see that even Jack isn't invincible," he responds flatly, hands fisting at his sides. "There are consequences to this life; eventually we all have to pay our dues." Gabe doesn't wait for Angela to respond, knowing well the look she must be giving him. He doesn't need the pity she gives away so freely. Instead, his focus switches to the man laying prone in the bed and the boy at his side. Rough hands find Jesse's shoulder, squeezing it lightly as dark eyes glance between him and Jack's sleeping form. As necessary as he knows it is for the boy to be here, Gabe can't help the tightening in his chest. He's felt it before, but every time he sees Jack like this, it feels like the first time. "He's a little beat up, but he'll be fine in a day or so."

Jesse's quiet, eyes unfocused and dry. He blinks several times, unable to look away from his battered idol. His small hands find Jack's bandaged one and he holds it for a while before leaning over and pressing a quick kiss against the sleeping man's cheek.

A sweet giggle leaves Angela's lips, but Gabe knows better. The innocent always die first.

He can't let that happen.

Jesse's seventeen now, all toned limbs and long hair. He pushes the auburn strands away from his face, damp with sweat from sparring. His black tee is tight on his frame, a pixelated middle finger plastered on the front. Gabe is sitting next to him on the rubber mats, guzzling water like no tomorrow, and he finds himself smiling. It's nice, he thinks, they don't always have the time but he's always grateful. "A little longer and I would've kicked your ass."

Gabe's snort is incredulous, but grin wide. He drags a hand across his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow onto his shorts. "Try again in the next few years, maybe your scrawny ass will have put on some muscle by then," he says, flexing tan, sleeveless arms. He feels Jesse's fingers on his bicep, prodding the thick muscle. "That's right kid, soak it up while you can."

Jesse smirks, eyes sliding sideways. "Oh, I dunno boss, feels like a lot of hot air to me." He barely contains a laugh as Gabe yanks his arm away, catching the gaze of the man in the doorway. "Isn't that right, commander?"

Jack's leaning against the doorframe of the training room, clad in a light blue tee and black cargo pants. It's a good look, Jesse thinks, it brings out the sky in Jack's eyes. "Not just his arms, his head's full of it too," he says, small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Ha, ha. Very fucking funny," Gabe growls, but the grin never leaves his face. He stands up and cracks his neck, sauntering over to Jack. "You come to talk or fight, prettyboy?"

Jack's eyes narrow, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Jesse would find it distracting if he wasn't so fixated on watching Gabe's dark eyes follow the movement. The exchange isn't uncommon, but lately Jesse's started to take notice of the small things. It's the way Gabe grins, wolfish and wild, the way his eyes seem to burn and devour everything that Jack does. It's the flush that paints the commander's neck when Gabe gets too close, the way he stands a little straighter and prouder. He's been watching for years, but never really noticed how Jack's lips are wet and tinged pink, and he wonders if Gabe's heart is beating as erratically as his own is.

Jack shakes his head, a huff of laughter escaping. "Neither, mission briefing in my office," he says, gaze now softening toward Jesse. "Sorry Jesse, going to have to take your sparring partner away for a bit."

Gabe grunts and Jesse sighs, "damn, just when things were gettin' good. I take it I ain't invited."

For a second, Jesse swears Jack almost looks sad. "Soon, son. You're looking sharper each day, the timing just isn't right yet. There's a few missions coming up that I'm considering bringing you in on, I just have some details to sort out first." Jack's being sincere, but the look Jesse's giving him says he doesn't believe him. Jack can't bring himself to blame the boy.

"I hear ya," Jesse says, gaze focusing on anything but the commander. He stands and stretches, turning toward the locker room and announcing over his shoulder that he's going to hit the showers. He doesn't wait for a response; he does however wait until he knows the coast is clear before he starts to tail them. It takes a minute to work up the nerve, he knows he's in deep shit if he's caught, but he hates being left out of the loop. Besides, he's sure they're talking about him. Gabe is probably telling Jack he's not ready, that he's still just a kid. The thought alone pisses him off, but he still feels like he needs to hear it for himself.

He waits around the corner until the clacking of their boots ceases and it's quiet. The door looks closed, but he knows for a fact the lock's busted and the handle's basically a dud. He hugs the wall closest to the handle and listens. They're talking, but it's nothing more than a chorus of mumbles. Stepping his foot close to the door and leaning into it ever so slightly. The door shifts open a sliver and he listens again. His heart is racing, but they haven't seemed to notice yet. Their voices are coming through clearer now and Jesse breathes a small sigh of relief. It's not enough just to hear them; he wants to see it. The door sits a lot farther back on the left wall than Jack's desk, so Jesse shifts to the other side of the door, bending down low and looking through the small opening he'd created. If Jack pays too much attention, he'll be caught, but no risk no reward right? Fear sits heavily at the base of his throat.

"Boy's not very strong, but he's scrappy as hell. We've trained him enough for field work; it's time to take the kid gloves off, Jack." It's Gabe talking and Jesse finds himself nodding.

He can't help but smile at the sight of Jack sitting on the desk, looking out the window, legs swinging. It makes him look impossibly younger than Jesse knows he is. Light filters in through the slanted blinds, painting the blonde in burning streaks, and Jesse almost reaches for his phone to take a picture. "I know. I don't like it, but I know. Things are just different on the field; battle forces you to grow up faster than… faster than he deserves," Jack says, barely loud enough for Jesse to hear.

"Faster than _you_ want him to. He ain't a kid anymore, you and I both know that." Gabe moves in front of Jack, and Jesse almost stops breathing. Battle worn fingers slide under the hem of Jack's shirt, hiking it up as they smooth over his abdomen. "Always so concerned about him; trying to make me jealous?"

Jack's arms slink upward, wrapping around Gabe's neck and pulling him close. Jesse can barely see their faces, but he can feel the vibration in Jack's voice run through him like an electric currant. "Depends, is it working?" Jack teases, and Gabe's mouth is on him, sucking a fresh bruise into his collarbone. His hands are impatient, running along the expanse of Jack's skin, squeezing along his hips and dipping under his waistband.

The erratic beating of Jesse's heart is drowned out by Jack's moans, and he can't bring himself to look away. It's getting warm now, but he's not sure if it's the temperature in the room that's rising, or his own body overheating. He doesn't quite know what he's feeling right now, watching as Gabriel unravels the strike commander on his desk. It's an unexpected mix of shock, irritation, and guilt-ridden desire. He knows he shouldn't be watching this, it's obviously something neither of them want anyone to see, but that in itself makes him surprisingly angry. Once again, he's being left out. His thoughts are drifting though, distracted by the sight of Jack's pants being unzipped and Gabe's hand pressing against the front of his black briefs.

It's when his own hand drifts downward that Jesse knows he has to leave. Taking his eyes off the scene in front of him is one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. Getting his legs to move is equally as difficult, stalling when a deep rumble rings out that he knows could've only come out of Gabe. It reminds him that he has to close the door. It's one thing for _him_ to see them like this, but entirely different if someone else was to overhear.

Jesse does his best to be quiet, hand reaching for the doorknob. He stops almost immediately, barely swallowing down a cold wave of fear as he sees Gabe's eyes on him. He's not sure really, he knows the door is only open a crack, so it's possible that…

Then Jack's cock is out, Gabe's fist wrapped around it and jerking him off, gaze never breaking away from the door.

Jesse wants to cry.

He can feel his body betray him. It's almost painful how turned on he is, and he can't run away fast enough now, abandoning his position at the door and bolting as quickly as he can outside. It takes all of his willpower not to collapse once he's outside. His head is thick with fog and his body is reacting in ways he doesn't want it to. He's never felt so frustrated. He blinks away the sting in his eyes, finding a wall to support his trembling limbs. The sunset reminds him of Jack; the strips of orange kissing the man's skin as Gabe devoured him.

At first, he thinks it might be the embarrassment that makes him finally start crying. When he's exhausted every drop and the sun is almost invisible, he realizes it's just how unfair it all feels.

Gabe's extra irritable the next day. It's not uncommon for him to get snappy, but it's obvious to more than just Jesse that he's a ticking time bomb. The seventeen year old can't help but wonder what happened after he left Jack's office, but most of him doesn't want to think about it. He's mad too, and the last thing he gives a shit about is what's wrong with _that_ asshole. He skipped their morning spar, and Jack's been trying to talk to him all day. Actively avoiding your commanding officer is a lot harder than it sounds.

Jack finally catches him at the target range a couple days later. Its early morning, earlier than Jesse's been up in a long time. Still, he's consistently skipped sparring and Jack can't help but worry. The blonde knows better than to interrupt Jesse's shot; he doesn't want to piss the boy off any further, he just wants to talk. They need to; after all, he feels at least partly responsible. The kid stopped wearing the goggles and earplugs years ago, but Jack still wants to scold him. He can't help wanting to protect him for as long as he can. "Heya, kid" Jack says, offering a small smile when Jesse finally puts the gun down and looks at him.

The boy stiffens. "It's Jesse; not kid, not son, just Jesse," he grumbles in obvious irritation. "Do you need something, Commander Morrison?" The look of hurt that flashes over Jack's face is a new one, and he can't help but feel bad. Immediately, he wants to apologize, but he can't bring his mouth to form the words.

"Jesse, I'm sorry. I know you're not a kid, and I know you feel like I'm babying you…and you're right." Jack's fist clenches at his side, lips forming a thin line as bright blue eyes keep Jesse in place. "I'm not ready for you to get hurt out there and I never will be. I couldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you." He pauses before placing a hand on Jesse's shoulder, "That being said, I realize that it's not my choice to make."

Eyes wide and back straight, Jesse isn't sure he's hearing things correctly. He had been certain he was going to get yelled at for eavesdropping at the very least, let alone almost watching his commanding officers have sex. An apology for something almost completely unrelated had been in none of his planned for scenarios. Maybe Gabe hadn't told Jack that he'd seen Jesse or maybe Gabe didn't see him after all; he isn't really sure, but he's grateful anyway. "Jack, you don't have to…"

Jack cuts him off, squeezing his shoulder gently. "I've scheduled your first mission, its official now so no slacking off, soldier."

Jesse can't help but beam, excitement and elation running through his veins like adrenaline. The part he's not prepared for is how proud Jack looks. He moves before he can stop himself and makes a grab for the front of Jack's shirt, pulling him close enough to press their lips together. He plants a kiss on the lips of his commander, breathing in the scent of apples and what he's guessing is Jack's peppermint toothpaste. Jesse's reluctant to pull away, wanting to taste more than he knows Jack will allow. He licks his lips and can't help but grin. "Thank you, Jack," he says, "I won't let you down."

Jack stalls as Jesse lets go, but his eyes only soften. He ruffles Jesse's hair, hand sliding down to tilt the boy's face upward. "I know, you never do."

As much as Jesse's against going back to sparring with Gabe, he knows Jack is counting on him to do his best to prepare for the mission. Jesse has no intention of letting him down, so he bites the bullet and prays his boss isn't too hard on him.

Hard isn't even close to the right word. Sparring with Gabe is absolute _hell_.

The older man's got him pinned down, thick hands and raw muscle, pressing bruises into his skin as Jesse tries to buck him off. He taught him how, he's following the motions, but the effect on his lower half is making it nearly impossible. It's apparent that Gabe notices, and the man is utterly unkind. He presses a knee between Jesse's legs and watches the boy writhe as he tries not to either pass out or come. Gabriel is a right bastard, but this is just unfair.

There's a knock on the doorframe and Jack's head pokes into the room. He looks like he's in a good mood, cheeks dimpled by how wide his smile is. "I think he's had enough, Gabe," he chuckles, finally opening the door enough to get the rest of his body in, "Better luck tomorrow, Jesse."

Gabe grunts and stretches, releasing Jesse and moving over to Jack. He takes the water bottle that's extended to him and chugs half the bottle, letting out a tired huff as his eyes cut back toward the boy on the floor. "He won't get anywhere if he doesn't start getting serious."

"Tch, you got lucky," Jesse grumbles, still on the mats, but sitting up now with his arms draped over his lap in hopes Jack won't notice what's underneath them. He fights the urge to rub his wrists and wonders if Gabe's left any marks. That thought makes him close his legs a little tighter.

Jack moves past Gabe, squatting down to hand their charge some water. "Hydrate, Jesse. You're doing fine," he says, patting the brunet's shoulder. He notices the boy flinch, but knows not to call attention to it. He's probably sore, and he knows better than anyone how rough the other commander can be. "Gabe is always the toughest to spar with. He gets grumpy when I beat him." This has Jesse snickering and Jack feels like he's done his job.

Gabe's behind him in a matter of seconds, pulling Jack backward by his collar. "Say it to my face, pendejo. You and me, _now_."

Jack looks positively unapologetic, standing and sending Gabe a look that sets Jesse's insides on fire. "Alright, Gabe. Best of three?"

It's Gabe's turn to smirk, moving his face impossibly close to Jack's. "Scared I'll win the first one?" He flicks the collar of Jack's shirt. "Maybe you should keep your ass out of my sparring sessions and out on the golf course."

"Don't let the polo fool you," Jack laughs, untucking his shirt and pulling it over his head. It's tossed next to Jesse, all of Jack's sinewy arms and abs on full display. "Happy?"

Jesse's managed to scramble backward against the wall, giving the two older men as much space as possible. Although the remark was meant for Gabriel, Jesse's probably the happiest damn person in the room. "Kick his ass, Jack!" he yells, earning him a wink from the blonde and a snappy "you just shut up and try not to cream your pants, kid," from Gabe. There are no further comments from the peanut gallery.

Jack starts off the exchange, throwing a gut punch to test the waters. Gabriel doesn't bother dodging, instead shifting to block and grab Jack's arm. He yanks him forward, going in for a head-butt, but Jack's knee is faster, hitting him in the stomach. Gabe grunts and they disengage, readying themselves for the next bout. Once again Jack gets things moving along, throwing another punch but this time aiming for Gabe's chin. It doesn't connect, the other man ducking and grabbing Jack around the waist. He takes them down to the ground and leans his forearm on the strike commander's neck. It doesn't last long, Jesse getting to see the move Gabe had tried to teach him earlier in action. Jack bucks his hips; disrupting Gabe's positioning and rolling on top of the other man. The next few minutes are a struggle for dominance, stomach punches and elbows being exchanged with no discernable winner in sight.

It's exactly what Jesse would've expected from the two and he's filled with a renewed sense of admiration. He wants to be just like them, strong and capable. Even more than that, there's immeasurable trust between the two. He doesn't have to look very hard to see it. Even while fighting, the two can't stop grinning. He wants to be a part of it, to know what it feels like to be loved so intensely.

Finally, Jack seems to have gotten the best of Gabe, pinning his wrists to the floor above his head. There's a pause and Jack looks triumphant until Jesse sees Gabe's mouth move. The man says something the boy can't hear and Jack's whole body seems to soften. Gabe takes advantage, rolling them over one more time. Jack's no longer smiling, all his energy seeming to transfer to Gabe instead. Jack taps out, and Jesse can't help but be disappointed.

"Good call, Jacky boy," Gabe says, letting the blonde go with a smirk. "Don't be too hard on yourself," he continues, eyes moving to Jesse.

"Cut it out, Gabe." Jack lets out a breath and runs a hand through his cropped hair. He's rigid in his movement, standing and picking his shirt off the floor next to Jesse. He gives the boy a weak smile. "Sorry Jesse, I'll get him next time," he says, but it's lacking his usual confidence.

It's obvious to Jesse that whatever Gabe had said to Jack was something that he shouldn't have. The man looks, at the very least, uncomfortable, mind obviously occupied. He watches Jack leave and can't help but glare at the other occupant of the room. He wants to ask what stupid thing came out of Gabe's mouth, but he's not sure that he'll get the truth. Instead, he's standing and heading out the door after Jack. He hears the protests, Gabe yelling for him to get his ass back there, but he couldn't care less about what Gabe says right now.

Jesse checks Jack's office first, but finds it unoccupied. He jogs past the shooting range and peeks his head into the kitchen, but nothing. He heads for Jack's room next; somewhere he's well acquainted with from sleepless nights when he was young. He used to think Jack never slept, always awake when he needed someone to talk to or somewhere to hide. He hadn't realized he was waking the commander up every time he knocked on the door until the one night he decided to let himself in. Jesse had come in to talk, but seeing Jack so soundly asleep drove him to curl up next to him instead. It became a habit until he got too old to justify it.

He doesn't bother knocking this time either, opening the door to Jack's room and seeing the still shirtless commander seated on the couch, rubbing circles into his temples. Jesse closes the door behind himself, moving over to the couch and sitting down next to Jack. They're quiet for a minute or two, Jesse leaning his shoulder against Jack's. Finally, he breaks the quiet, hand fisting at his side. "He's an asshole, whatever he said…"

Jack shakes his head, cutting him off, "That's your commanding officer Jesse, and he deserves your respect."

Heat rises up Jesse's neck; he's a bit flustered, but refuses to back down. "Don't, Jack, not right now. It's just me and you, and regardless of him being my boss, he's still an asshole and if he said something that hurt you, I—"

It's Jack's turn to kiss him. It's light, sweet, and effective at shutting him up. He can feel Jack's fingers at his jawline, the coarse pad of his thumb dragging across Jesse's chin. It eases the tension in him for a moment, getting him to relax, but setting his nerves alight. Jack pulls back too soon for Jesse's taste, his lips chasing Jack's and connecting them again. A quiet sigh escapes the older of the two and Jesse's quickly decided that he quite likes kissing Jack. He can't help but whine when the other man pulls away once more, the desire to chase Jack down again overwhelming.

Jack's thumb rolls lightly over Jesse's kissed pink lips, sky blue eyes watching glittering amber. He wonders mutely if the boy realizes what dangerous territory they're in. His next words come out steady, but soft, as if he truly doesn't know the answer. "Do you know how much he loves you?"

As surprised as Jesse is by the question, he can't help but look away. "He sure has a shitty way of showing it," he huffs, cheeks tinged pink.

"That's just Gabe. The more he cares about something, the harder he pushes back," Jack says, letting his hand drop from the boy's cheek. It's obvious that Jesse's conflicted, his face contorting and brows furrowing in uncertainty. Jack wonders if Jesse's finally starting to understand. He stands from the couch, making his way over toward his dresser and pulling out a white tee. "I have a meeting with Dr. Ziegler in a few minutes, but you're welcome to hide out here as long as you'd like. Don't tell Captain Amari that of course, I'd be in hot water if she found out I was giving you permission to skip her lesson."

"Thanks…" Jesse shifts on the couch, choosing to lay down and curl his legs over the left arm. He listens to Jack pull on his jacket and strap up his boots, the sliding of fabric and tying of laces creating white noise. Waiting until Jack is about to leave, one hand on the doorknob, he makes one last inquiry. "Jack, can I…come back later tonight?"

Jack knows it's a loaded question. He stalls for a moment at the door, back turned to Jesse, grateful that the boy can't see his expression. "My door is always open to you, Jesse. I'm not the one you need to ask; _talk_ to him," he says before finally leaving the room.

Jesse can't help but release a frustrated breath, legs swinging as if juggling an invisible ball. He knows what he has to do, but the mere thought of it makes him cringe. At least Jack is letting him hang out here and collect his thoughts; he'd be useless trying to listen to a lecture right about now, there's no way he could face Ana this distracted. _What do I even say?_ "Gabe, you and Jack are like family to me, who I…also want to have sex with? No, nope, that sounds fucking weird." Jesse winces and tries once again to verbalize his thoughts. "Maybe…hey bossman, I feel really left out when you and Jack fuck so mind if I join? Shit, that's _terrible_ ," he groans, covering his now heated face with his hands. Nope, there's no way he can talk to Gabe.

The click of the door opening startles Jesse, but he doesn't move from his position of defeat on the couch. It must be Jack coming back to get something, so he keeps his eyes closed and releases a sigh. "Can't do it, Jack. It's impossible to talk to Gabe."

There's a snort and Jesse opens his eyes, feeling something land on his stomach. He looks down to see a wrapped up sandwich, then looks up to see the one person he was hoping to avoid. Gabe has an eyebrow raised but maintains an even expression. Jesse can tell he's amused. "Did Jack tell you I was here?'

Gabe takes a seat on the bed across from Jesse and begins to unwrap his own sandwich. "Said you might be hungry; I took the hint." He takes a bite and watches the boy sluggishly right himself, setting aside his gifted lunch. "You got something to say to me?"

There's a glint in Gabriel's eyes that tells Jesse he better have come up with something good, and the younger can't help but be annoyed. He stands from the couch and takes five steps forward so he's in front of Gabe. The other man just watches, chewing extra slow.

As thin as Jesse's patience is, he waits until Gabe has swallowed to make his move. He bends down, closing the gap between their mouths and closing his eyes. He's quick to pull away though, swaying as Gabe grabs him by the waist and tosses him on the bed. "What the fuck, Ga-" Jesse manages squeak, but he's cut off by Gabriel's teeth on his throat. Squirming underneath the commander's weight, he can't help but make a noise as Gabe bites a mark into the soft column of flesh. His fingers find Gabe's hair, tugging it and urging the older man to focus his attention higher. Gabe moves back to his mouth, planting a rough kiss on Jesse's lips before tearing himself away. He leaves Jesse blinking, breathing heavy and terribly, terribly aroused. Gabe picks up the discarded sandwich and takes another bite before heading for the door.

The shock and ferocity of Gabe's attention has thrown Jesse's his head into a tailspin. His fingers graze over the fresh bruise and bite marks in his skin and winces. As dizzied as he is, it doesn't stop him from hearing Gabe's warning.

"That's for touching Jack without my permission, you little shit."

It takes all of Jesse's determination and willpower to stand in front of Jack's door that night. He's feeling several emotions at once, but mostly scared and excited. Part of him wonders if Jack doesn't expect him to actually come, or if Gabe didn't tell him that they talked. Well, they didn't really, but Jesse's hopeful that it still counts. He wonders if he's going to get his ass kicked by Gabe for disobeying him already and spending the night with Jack. He knows it's more likely that Gabe will be in the room, sitting next to Jack ready to interrogate him. He's not sure if he's prepared enough, and he has to swallow down the cold jolt of fear threatening to send him back to his own room. Jesse lets his hand twist the doorknob, not bothering to knock in fear of someone down the hall hearing. He ducks inside quietly and hears Jack's voice almost immediately, coming out in a breathy moan.

Upon closer inspection, it's obvious why; Jesse's eyes are wide and staring at the two bodies tangled together on the bed. Gabe's mouth is latched onto Jack's chest, the blonde's long fingers combing through black, cropped hair. The boy's mouth is dry, body flushing as Jack's head lolls to the side and blue eyes center on him. He's drawn in by Jack's gaze, toeing off his shoes and moving forward slowly until he's next to the bed. The strike commander's hand reaches out to him and he takes it, looking over to Gabe for approval. He'd learned his lesson earlier; he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "Can I…?"

Gabe's eyes are dark and blown wide as he detaches himself from Jack's pink-blotched skin. He appreciates Jesse's sincerity, smirking and giving a short nod. "Go on," he tells him, sitting back on his heels and giving Jack a little space. He watches Jesse crawl into the bed beside Jack, their hands still clasped together as the strike commander tugs him forward into a kiss. It's soft and sweet, but Gabe can tell Jesse's nervous. He waits for them to pull apart, Jack leaning in for another but interrupted by Gabe's hand turning his cheek. "Pay attention kid, I'll show you how Jacky _really_ likes it"

Jack is quick to glare, but doesn't have time to say anything before Gabe's mouth is pressed against his, hot and eager. They fall into what Jesse assumes is their usual rhythm, Jack's lips parting and Gabe's tongue marking its territory. He pulls back momentarily to bite and kiss Gabe's lower lip, earning a charming expletive from his partner. His eyes flutter as Gabe's fingers squeeze lightly at his throat, orbs darting sideways and catching Jesse's appreciative stare. He pulls his mouth away from Gabe's reluctantly, tongue lingering and running along kiss-swollen lips. "Shirt off, Jesse."

The boy blinks. Jack talking doesn't register at first, but when it does, he's moving as fast as humanly possible to do one better and remove both his shirt and pants. He hears Gabe chuckle, mumbling into Jack's neck, "someone's eager," but he ignores the jab. It's true after all, he _is_ eager. Being a part of this, getting to experience both Jack and Gabriel in the most intimate of ways is something he will never _not_ be eager for. He returns to the bed, his earlier timidity now gone as he slides his hands up Gabe's chest and kisses him. Jesse feels Jack shift, the naked planes of Jack's chest pressed against his back as he plants delicate kisses on Jesse's shoulder blades. He sighs against Gabe's mouth, already feeling lightheaded. He feels different hands on his waist, thicker and rougher than Jack's. Both sets imprint themselves into his skin and he's already formed an addiction. Gabe pulls away and Jesse almost pouts, but he really can't be mad when the two commanders slot their mouths together over his shoulder.

It's an unbelievable situation, and Jesse has half a mind to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't asleep. He knows there are better places to pinch though, his fingers sliding up Gabe's center and tweaking a stiff nipple. He's a bit disappointed when it doesn't do much, Gabe too enthralled with kissing Jack. A different tactic is quickly decided upon, the boy leaning back against Jack's chest and directing the blonde's hand downward. His eyes flutter, mewling softly as Jack does as directed and squeezes him. Jesse earns their attention once again; Jack's focus now redirected to the swell in the younger's boxers. His palm is firm, curving around Jesse and rubbing him in all the right ways.

Gabe is obviously the less patient of the two, swatting the other man's hand away so he can lift Jesse's hips and pull off his last layer of clothing. The band of Jesse's boxers catch slightly, his now stiff cock bobbing as Gabe finally tugs the offending article down his thighs. He grins as Jesse Glares, the boy's legs bound together by the fabric not yet all the way removed.

The glare however doesn't last long, an enthusiastic return of Jack's hand hastily removing any irritation he once held. He'd imagined more than once what it'd feel like to have his strike commander's fist around him, but none of those daydreams even came close to what it really feels like. Honestly, Jesse can't even begin to describe it, too busy trying to keep his breathing steady as Jack nips at the junction between his neck and jaw. He feels his eyes closing, hips jerking minutely in attempt to get even more sensation out of Jack's practiced hand. A shuddering sob escapes him, eyes wide as wet heat burns his chest. Amber eyes darted downward to see a crop of black hair, Gabe's mouth pressed against his skin. His next inhale is little more than a choked gasp as the other man sucks Jesse's nipple between his teeth.

Jesse's on fire. He can feel Jack's chest rumble as he chuckles, the boy's cock now leaking onto his knuckles. "Don't be afraid to tell us if it's too much," Jack warns, his other hand finding Jesse's and squeezing it gently. He knows it's already overwhelming, Jesse having very little sexual prowess as is let alone with two men over a decade older than him, but it's obvious he's keen on the experience. It's also obvious that if they don't let up soon, Jesse's going to be spent a lot earlier than he wants. Jack's hands untangle themselves from the boy he has cradled to his chest, fingers combing Gabe's hair twice before his counterpart finally looks up at him. "Let's give him a break."

Gabe grunts but acquiesces, earning a small whimper from the body sandwiched between them. As much fun as he's having, Gabe knows Jack's right to switch things up. "You're lucky Jack doesn't want you to come yet," he grumbles, amusement growing as both Jesse's face and cock twitch. He does the boy a favor and grants his legs freedom again, removing the bunched fabric around his knees.

Jesse lets out a grateful sigh, only mildly disappointed with the prolonging of his release. He'd been feeling really good a minute ago, too good he knew, but _fuck_ if he didn't want to feel that way again. Taking a minute to look Gabriel over, noting the light sheen of sweat misting his abdomen, he suddenly realizes he's the only one fully naked. Apparently, the other two hadn't quite gotten that far before he interrupted things, and he suddenly feels embarrassingly selfish. Reluctantly pulling himself off Jack's lap, Jesse moves to sit on the bed beside his commanders. "If you two want to um…continue…" He says shyly, the bridge of his nose dusting pink as he fails in his attempt to not look away. His eyes turn to saucers as Gabe's fingers find his chin and lift it roughly.

"Don't act like you don't want to watch," Gabe grins, smile angular and confident. "Don't worry, I know what you want, Jesse," he continues, drawing back and palming himself through his underwear.

"Take it easy, Gabe." Jack says, voice soft as he presses a kiss into the base of the other soldier's neck. His fingers trail downward and ghost along the hem of Gabriel's boxer briefs. In a matter of seconds, Gabe is lifting up on his knees and pulling down the cloth, Jack mirroring the motions behind him. Jack's sigh ghosts over his back, the other man's cock laying heavily on the curve of his ass. It's a familiar and welcome feeling, but Gabe is determined to give their audience a proper show. He turns his back to Jesse, glancing over his shoulder and tilting his head toward Jack. "Come here, behind me, Jesse."

It's difficult for the boy to stop staring and move into action. He's seen both Gabe and Jack naked before, sharing locker rooms will do that, but he's never seen them naked and _aroused_. He'd had his fair share of wet dreams of course, but he hadn't been sure what to expect. Gabe is thick where Jack is long, both heads swollen and flushed an angry pink. He wonders mutely if they switched who topped or if Gabe is a controlling bastard even in the bedroom. The thought causes an obvious reaction, his cock twitching in excitement. Jesse works hard to ignore his own arousal as he positions himself behind Gabe, hand guided to splay out against his boss' stomach as he rests his chin in the crook of his commander's neck. Gabe's thumb slides into Jack's mouth and Jesse's eyes can't help but widen. He does his best to stay still, but he's drawn in by sky blue orbs and the vision of Gabe imprinting himself onto Jack's tongue and smearing spit across the blonde's lips. Jesse thinks his heart just might beat right out of his chest. He swallows down a lump in his throat as Gabe gives his own cock a couple of lazy strokes and Jack bends down low.

The sight of Jack's lips stretched taut over Gabe's cock nearly sends Jesse into the afterlife. He can feel Gabe tremble, the man's hands tangled in Jack's hair as the blonde licks and sucks along his rigid shaft. And _oh god_ the noises. Gabe's low moans sent vibrations through his chest and straight to his groin, Jesse's cock stiff and already dribbling precum down his commander's lower back. He can't help but start rubbing against him, Gabe's hips also moving to press deeper into Jack's mouth. The movement is just right, Jesse's cock sliding along a trail of damp skin as he feels Gabe shudder in warning of impending release. He watches Jack's eyes flutter closed, a slight bulge in his throat as he swallows down the fruit of his labor.

Jesse's on the edge again, head floating as he ruts against Gabe. His face is buried into the man's shoulder, fingers digging into muscle as he tiptoes the line of pleasure. He feels hands on him, removing him from his position and he reluctantly opens his eyes. He can't help the whine that escapes him even though Jack is in front of him, kissing and touching him lovingly. He's shifted, back pressed to the sheets and legs lifted to curl at Jack's sides. The kiss breaks and they're both panting, Jesse chasing the taste of Gabe still left in Jack's mouth.

Their positioning makes it obvious what Jack has in mind next, but he wants to make sure the youngest is still in it for the long haul. "How are you feeling, Jesse?"

"G-Good," the boy manages to choke out, head still coming down from its temporary residence in the clouds. "So fucking good," he corrects quickly. He firmly believes it's the best day of his life, but he doesn't want it to be over yet. He knows he's beet red at this point and probably slack-jawed, hair mussed and dripping sweat, but it doesn't stop him from reaching for Jack and pulling him into another searing kiss. They break for air and Jesse's eyes find Gabe's, his stare heated and decidedly still hungry. He wants Gabe's hands on him again, wants to feel the weight of Jack bearing down on him as he folds him over; he wants it all. "More, Jack, I need _more_."

Jack's smile is soft, but the words whispered against Jesse's ear aren't. "Alright Jesse, we're going to fuck you now."

It still surprises Jesse how bright stars can make the night sky look. He's seen it before, more than a handful of times in his twenty-eight years of life he's sure, and yet he still can't help but marvel at them. He remembers being eleven or twelve and trying to count them, sprawled out on a blanket next to Gabriel and Jack. The strike commander always seemed to know the names of whatever constellation he pointed to. It didn't take long for him to memorize and recite them back as if it had always been so obvious. Jack was always so proud of him.

He was young then, and now it was a different world. This world was filled with corruption and death. Jesse was doing his best to stave off the latter, but the missions kept getting tougher. He hadn't understood it back then, when Gabriel first became commander of Blackwatch, why his mentor would want to take on the more brutal tasks. He knew now, better than anyone. Gabe would do whatever it took to protect Jack. Someone had to lead the special operatives team, someone had to make the tough calls, someone would have to be willing to sacrifice themselves if needed, and that someone was Gabriel.

As much as Jack hated it, Gabe was the only one he could trust with the position and everyone knew it. Jack was the guiding light and face of Overwatch. It was only fitting that his rougher half take command of the shadows. Even so, Jack stayed on edge, always worried that the next Blackwatch mission would be Gabe's last. Jesse knew what he had to do before Jack even thought to ask. He wouldn't have anyway, fear driving too much of his decision-making. Jesse knew now that it was a good fear to have.

That same fear ran through Gabriel's veins during Jesse's first Blackwatch mission. It was a cold fear that bred hot anger and one too many fights between the two commanders. As much as it pulls them apart, Jesse brings them back together, drawing them close at night and reminding them how much they need each other. It's a difficult thing sometimes, but it's the only thing that matters to any of them and he knows it.

Jesse takes a deep breath of cool night air, eyes unfocused as he watches the stars. He's seated on a bench in Rialto, the soft lapping of water against the docks the only sound worth listening to. He hears the footsteps though, recognizable to him even in a crowd, and he lets his eyes closes. A hand that isn't his own brushes through his tawny hair, the pads of their fingers massaging in gentle circles. Jesse knows those fingers well, a contented sigh leaving him. "You done?"

There's a hum of acknowledgement and Jesse opens his eyes again to see Jack's scarred face hovering over him. A barely visible smile tugs at his lips. It's different than it used to be, but it's still handsome and strong. He doesn't think Jack can be anything other than handsome. He can't help but hope Jack will kiss him, even though he knows he won't. It's too open here, too easy for one of their teammates to see. He's sure they all know; it's not hard to see if you look close enough, but it doesn't mean they have to broadcast it either. At least, that's what Gabe had said when he was young and too dumb to understand why you don't kiss your bosses in public.

Jack's fingers leave him and he stifles a yawn. Standing from his spot on the bench, his eyes catch Gabe coming over their way. "Midnight Gondola ride, boss? I know how much of a romantic you are," Jesse drawls, grinning when it earns him a stiff middle finger.

Jack chuckles, waiting for the other man to get closer before adding, "Gabe's allergic to water, don't even think about trying to get him into a bathtub."

Gabe's frowning, but he doesn't stop walking until he's pressed himself flush against Jack's back. "It's cuz you like doing in the shower, don't lie to the boy."

Jesse's the one to laugh this time, rounding the bench and knocking his shoulder lightly into the blushing strike commander. "Break it up you two; don't want either of you old men sprainin' anything," he says, feeling the need to contribute to the verbal spar. The jab is worth it, Gabe's arm slinging around his neck in a playful headlock as the blonde next to them shakes his head.

Knowing the road ahead will be challenging is one thing, being prepared for it is another. Jesse isn't sure what's ahead of any of them, but it's only when he's standing between Jack and Gabe that he thinks it might all turn out okay.


End file.
